


It's all about the distance between

by elletromil



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Fix-It, Gen, Harry Hart Lives, M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-11
Updated: 2015-08-11
Packaged: 2018-04-14 02:19:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4546449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elletromil/pseuds/elletromil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She shakes her head. She doesn’t know if it’s a business partner, a friend, some distant family relation, but it’s clearly not his son. Mr. Hart doesn’t seem the type to introduce his son as simply ‘Eggsy’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's all about the distance between

**Author's Note:**

> So even though I have quite a lot of wip that I should be writing, I asked for prompts on tumblr this week-end and I got this one from a lovely anon:  
> "You asked for prompts so here's mine. How about a look at Harry/Eggsy relationship from the pov of a minor character, like their driver, their neighbour, their vet, maybe their cleaner. Or even the owner of a restaurant they frequent."
> 
> I had good fun writing it, because it is different from what I'm used to write and since I like the result a lot, I feel it should be posted over here too. For those of you that have already read it on tumblr, I've tweaked it a bit, but it's basically the same.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

She smiles when she notices the perfectly-dressed gentleman walking through the front door and making his way to the hostess, recognizing Mr. Hart even at this distance. He exchanges what she assumes is polite small talk with the young woman, but his eyes are already scanning the restaurant and she sees his smile taking a more genuine turn when he spots her.

She nods in acknowledgment before returning her attention to the drinks she has in her hands. She’ll be able to greet him more warmly once he’s at his table. It would have been presumptuous of her to think he will ask to be seated in her section if only he hadn’t done so for the five years he has been coming here.

She hurries to his table as soon as she can. Not because he is a difficult client, but because she genuinely likes him. Of course the generous tips he always leaves her had played a huge part in her affection for the man at first, but even if he had been a poor tipper, his polite ways and charming smile would have ended up winning her over.

“Mr. Hart! I’m happy to see you’re back, it’s been a while.”

“Ah yes, I was on a business trip.” He chuckles at the small excited exclamation she cannot suppress. Mr. Hart always has interesting stories about whatever country he’s been to when he comes back and always manages to regal her with them without interfering with her service to other tables. She's in for a great night.

*

Then the world goes insane for a brief moment of time.

Not that a lot changed for her.

The restaurant she works at is still open, people in nice suits and fancy dresses still come through the door and it’s still her job to make sure they get exactly what they expect. There are new faces and some she has seen since her first day. Good tippers, bad tippers, polite people and some people that need a good slap on the face.

There’s a few of the regular clientele she never sees again and she can’t help but wondering what happened to them. Have they stop coming because of the traumatic events of that crazy day or because of another completely unrelated reason? She doesn’t lose sleep over them, but when you see people regularly for years, even if you’re not friends with them, you just cannot help the curiosity.

She wonders a lot about Mr. Hart. He had been her favourite among the favourites after all. She might have not known a lot about him, because for all the stories he told, there was actually very little he would reveal about himself, but she genuinely cared for him.

But as the days turn to weeks and the weeks to months, she finally accepts the evidence. Mr. Hart is clearly not coming back.

*

It’s been six months since that crazy day and the staff is enjoying one of those slow evening that, if they’re not so great for business, are amazing for their stress levels.

The hostess sighs dejectedly when the door opens, but you would never have known it seeing the smile she plasters on her face before facing the new-comers. That’s what professionalism is all about after all.

She doesn’t bother looking who came through the door, because her section is the busiest right now, so the hostess will probably ship whoever it is off to another waiter, so that everyone has work and a chance to make some tip.

It’s a surprise then when her colleague comes find her in the kitchen where she is taking a small break with the cooks to tell her she has a table waiting for her. The hostess has an apologetic smile, but she knows that she could not have done otherwise if the customers have specifically asked for her, which they’ve done.

There’s two men seated at the table; a young man she’s never seen before but dressed in a suit that scream money and importance and another one with his back facing her as she walks towards them. The young man notices her at once and smiles politely and somewhat sweetly. She usually waits until the end of the night before putting a new customer in a category, but with her years of experience, she thinks it’s safe to say it bodes well for her and she'll probably have a new favourite.

Then she turns to the other man and she blushes in embarrassment after gasping in surprise.

“Mr. Hart!”

He smiles at her warmly and she doesn’t know on what her attention should stop: the ugly scar on his forehead that the eye-patch he now wears does nothing to hide or the fact that for the first time since he’s started coming to the restaurant Mr. Hart is accompanied. Professional as she is, she settles on the young man and sincerely hopes Mr. Hart hasn’t felt uncomfortable by her obvious staring. “And who is your companion this evening?”

“This is Eggsy.” He doesn’t offer any other explanation, not that he owes her one, but as she offers up her hand for a handshake, the young man takes it gently in his and bring it up to his lips and brushes a little kiss on her knuckles.

“Pleasure to meet you Miss.”

Mr. Hart groans softly, but a quick look reassures her that he seems more mock-exasperated at his companion’s antics than anything else and Eggsy winks at them both as he lets go of her hand.

*

She’s grilled by the rest of the staff once she comes back to the kitchen, everyone wondering who that young man with Mr. Hart is. He might have requested her every time she was working, but it happened sometimes she wasn’t in and all the staff knew the kind gentleman and the fact that he had always been alone. Until tonight.

“Do you think it’s his son? There’s a bit of resemblance.”

She shakes her head. She doesn’t know if it’s a business partner, a friend, some distant family relation, but it’s clearly not his son. Mr. Hart doesn’t seem the type to introduce his son as simply ‘Eggsy’.

“Maybe Mr. Hart is his sugar daddy.”

The cook who said it gets shoved over for his trouble. It’s true one can never know about those things, but Mr. Hart has only ever been polite and nice to each and every one of them. That kind of disrespect, even if Mr. Hart will never know, is shameful.

*

She spends the evening trying to figure out what kind of relationship Mr. Hart and Eggsy share.

At first she thinks they’re simply business partner, although friendly ones, because they talk shop and when Mr. Hart mention a trip to some country, Eggsy delights her with one of his own story.

Then she thinks that while they might really be working together, it’s obvious they’re first and foremost friends. It’s in the way they’ll tease each other and laugh together at what can only be inside jokes she can’t possibly pretend starting to understand.

It’s only once she’s back with dessert that she thinks maybe, just maybe, they’re more.

Not because they steal spoonful of the other’s cake. Everyone does that.

Not because when she brings milk, cream and sugar for their coffee, Eggsy takes what he needs than gives Mr. Hart precisely what he usually puts in his. Friends do that kind of thing.

No, it’s in the way their eyes meet over the table, the way their voices get lower and that even if their hands never touch, even when there’s not even a single accidental brush of their fingers together, it seems as if the only thing on their mind is the millimeters separating them.

It’s in the way that, when they’re ready to go, Mr. Hart guides Eggsy out with a hand hovering at the small of his back, not yet touching. It's in the way that, with every steps they take, the young man slowly inches closer, until there's only the pretension of distance between them.

*

She’s happy when after that night, Mr. Hart starts coming twice a month.

He’s not always with Eggsy, the young man having taken over the traveling part of their business as she understands it, but after that first night, there’s no mistaking what their relationship is.

And if anyone still has doubts, they are laid to rest a year later when, as she's coming back to their table with dessert, Mr. Hart gets on one knee in front of a blushing Eggsy, what can only be a ring box in his proffered hand.


End file.
